Chapter 7 #2
Still dazed by her own force of feeling, Elizabeth allowed her sister to steer her past her aunt who was giving instructions to the nursemaid, past the door to the sitting room and up the stairs.
They had barely gained the bedroom and shut the door when her sister’s large, beseeching eyes begged her to speak.
So Elizabeth did, at first haltingly, unburden herself of what had transpired in Kent, especially her rejection of Mr Darcy’s surprising offer, then a little of what he had revealed in his letter regarding the untrustworthiness of Mr Wickham—sparing the name of Miss Darcy—and his disclosure of his own involvement in discouraging Mr Bingley’s suit, and why he had acted so officiously in the interest of friendship.
Jane was very quiet and stood listening. Elizabeth kept breathing and went on, talking of how the delay in her departure from Hunsford had led to the day’s events with Lady Catherine, including the dowager’s insulting insinuations, Mr Darcy’s defence of her, and his sincere apologies.
It was harder to then explain how her own feelings had changed in the face of such humble honesty, how she had been persuaded to not only accept his apologies and his feelings but to return them. How even now, she wished for his return.
Even as she spoke, it sounded like the story of another young woman’s confusing journey into love, as fantastical as a tale of a little girl getting lost in some mysterious wood and finding her own way.
“But this is incredible,” said Jane, turning and pacing to the window and quite surprising Elizabeth, who had hoped her sister’s faithful affection would ensure her ready acceptance of such a tale.
“You quite disliked him, Lizzy. I remember it very well. Are you certain, quite certain, that what you feel, and what he feels, is not built on a moment’s allegiance?
I take it that Lady Catherine can be quite formidable, and—”
But Jane was interrupted with a knock, and then news of a delivery. The housekeeper herself was there, and, once assured the ladies within were arranged properly, let in a footman in Darcy livery bearing the old battered trunk that had followed Elizabeth on her journey.
Jane watched in silence while Elizabeth thanked the servants. The silence went on after they were gone, for Jane seemed unable to regain the words of caution and concern she had planned.
Elizabeth felt the burden of all her own sober reflections, her own vigilant considerations, remembering her own self-doubt even as her heart and his had opened to each other.
In this moment, her sensibilities so little resembled those of her former self that she wondered whether she should take back all that weight of caution just to regain some sense of her own recognition.
But something—perhaps the reassurance of her old trunk here as yet another talisman of Darcy’s care—made her throw off that yoke easily.
That bold welcome of change in itself seemed a symptom of the very audacity of love.
She hopped lightly from her perch on the bed and went over to her trunk, unlatching it and hoisting the lid.
She heard Jane gasp in surprise.
Lying on top of Elizabeth’s folded articles was a tied nosegay of fragrant jasmine blossoms which had not been there before, white as any peace offering, and sweeter.
“Did Mr Darcy give you those?” asked Jane, as Elizabeth took up the bundle gently.
“Somehow, he must have,” Elizabeth mused, wondering if Mr Darcy had intercepted her trunk himself on its way to Gracechurch Street only minutes ago, or if he had precipitously asked one of his discreet servants to place the blooms in her trunk even before Elizabeth herself had left his home in the carriage.
In either case, the eagerness of the gesture spoke volumes.
Another knock, this one a light tap—which both girls knew to be their aunt’s signal—sounded at the bedroom door. Jane, already on her feet, went to answer.
“Lizzy—” began Mrs Gardiner, who stopped immediately at the sight of the little bouquet in Elizabeth’s hands. “Well, it is clear that much has changed since you went away to Kent.”
“I have been explaining it all to Jane. I suppose I must start again. Or might I begin simply? There has been an exchange of honesty and forgiveness between Mr Darcy and myself on both sides today. And we have reached an understanding.”
“Then it is settled? Is all really settled between you?” Mrs Gardiner asked. “You looked the picture of comfortable companionship in my sitting room, but when Jane brought you to this room only minutes ago, you were most discomposed.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It is not doubt. You must not think I doubt his sincerity or mine.”
“I cannot claim to know enough of the gentleman to judge him,” said Mrs Gardiner thoughtfully. “But you, my dear niece, I do know. And you so disliked him, so distrusted him before. I cannot account for that change so suddenly without good reason, and expect to feel easy.”
“I have good reason, a very good number of reasons, to dispel that old dislike. I was very mistaken about the character of Mr Wickham—as I was telling Jane, his was the account that was untruthful, and I met another in Kent who could verify Mr Darcy’s account.
And as to Mr Darcy acting to separate Mr Bingley and Jane—”
Here she looked in distress to her sister, whose silence still unnerved her.
“I can accept his decision to intervene,” said Jane slowly, pinching her eyes shut.
“Mr Darcy loves his friend and could not perceive my true feelings. After all, Mr Darcy truly did not know me well. It is only painful, so inexpressibly painful, to realise that it is Mr Bingley who did not know or understand me at all, and that he did not endeavour to try.”
Jane opened her eyes, only to look up at the ceiling in an attempt to combat tears. Elizabeth could not bear it. She dropped her bouquet in her haste to embrace her sister, and Jane readily welcomed the comfort, seeming to need it so much that even their aunt came round her back to hold her.
Jane took a deep breath. When next she spoke, her voice was muffled.
“I could only wish he had courage like Mr Darcy’s, that he might have had the boldness to defend my integrity against the speculation of family and friends—and, in the face of doubt, that he would ask me in all honesty about my own heart. ”
There was sufficient truth and grief in what she said to give Elizabeth and her aunt cause to hold Jane tighter.
After sinking together for a moment, Jane steadied herself, then gently loosed herself from their embraces.
Elizabeth stepped back to give her sister the liberty to restore her own composure, but was surprised when Jane moved away towards the trunk, then bent to retrieve the bouquet that had been left on the floorboards.
She brought it to Elizabeth, placing it back in her hand.
“Lizzy, he really does deserve you. You do deserve each other, I mean. You are both of you so brave.”
Elizabeth smiled through the brightness of her own sudden tears. “Oh, but our bravery was born of need. We have Lady Catherine to thank, for had she not attacked me today, we might never have stood side by side in battle,” she reflected with a laugh.
“She did what?” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner in surprised concern and borrowed offence.
Elizabeth barely had time before and after they dined to explain some of the day’s upheavals, but it was enough to convince Mrs Gardiner, in the kindness of her generous heart, to contrive a way for Elizabeth and her beau to have a moment’s privacy when he came to call again.
Before Mr Darcy called, quite alone, the next morning, Mrs Gardiner had time enough to set the children to their lessons with Jane.
She was therefore well-positioned to facilitate the requisite introductions between Mr Darcy and her husband.
As the two men entered with mutual enthusiasm into discussion about the merits of summer travel and sport in the Lake Country, it was clear to Elizabeth’s amused notice that Mrs Gardiner shared her eagerness for the two unacknowledged lovers to have a moment alone.
Mr Gardiner seemed to have prepared for this eventuality, however, when he suggested that Mr Darcy might like to reference a memoir written by a fine angler in his book room.
Elizabeth just as readily offered to show the way. And so it was neatly done, and they once again found quiet solace in a study.
“Your aunt is indeed a shrewd woman,” said Darcy with something like fondness as he meandered over to peruse the shelves in a show of curiosity. “But your uncle is every bit as clever.”
Elizabeth could only watch him and smile. “I am very grateful to my uncle, and to my aunt and yours.”
He turned back to look at her. “Mine?”
She nodded, then came to stand before him on tiptoe, the better to wrap her arms around his neck with presumptuous affection.
After the space of only a night since their sudden understanding, there was relief in the solidness of his body, and after a heartbeat of his surprise, the slow reciprocation of his own arms coming around her offered a tangible reassurance to the reality of their understanding.
Emboldened by the bright happiness of his gaze trained down upon her, her own good humour only increased.
“Yes, I must thank your aunt, for she gave me one very good piece of advice after she learned of my refusal of Mr Collins—that I ought not refuse another offer of marriage ever again.”
He shifted his hands lower on her back to enhance their proximity, warming her. “And yet you did, initially,” he observed.
“Ah, but that was before I heard her advice,” said Elizabeth archly.
He laughed and drew her flush against him, tucking his face into the curls at her neck so he could smother his amusement.
The sense of being wrapped up in him this way—so nearly as one body, breathing and laughing with him and sharing in the most delicious joy—overtook her so completely with such thrilling, filling comfort, such dizzying and heady delight, that before she knew what she was doing, she had taken hold of the collar of his coat with boldness enough to break him of his mirth, and kissed him.
The End